


The Misery of the Gullible

by EasyTangent



Category: Scott Lynch - The Gentleman Bastard Sequence
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Adventure, Canon - Book, Friendship, Gen, Humor, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Omniscient, Pre-Series, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTangent/pseuds/EasyTangent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's dead and so is someone else. Except that no one's dead and some other person's probably about to lose a fortune.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Misery of the Gullible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ryuutchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/gifts).



> Merry Christmas Ryuutchi; it's all for you (and I hope to the infant baby Jesus that you like it)!
> 
> Thanks to pollyrepeat for being one of my betas. You also introduced me to the tradition of yuletide and to this completely stupefying and wondrous series by Scott Lynch.
> 
> And I'm indebted to jones and ashes for the use of the book; writing this was so much easier with a copy of it in my hands. All the little details are thanks to you.

"Why did you kill him?" was the bewailing clearly heard above the bedlam. The creaking of the boats and the dither of the crowd—even the red-faced barge-owner—had nothing on the aged man treading water in Camorr's Shifting Revel.

Under the early morning sun the old man's tears soaked into the seawater, and the seawater washed over his bearded face, completing the caricature of abject despondency entitled to a man who just lost his only son on a day of festival and gaiety.

Looking up at the owner of the barge, the man pitifully bobbing on the surface cursed out, "May my master Iono, Lord of the Grasping Waters, take no pity on you! Your lackadaisical nature has doomed my singular child to the waters kept by unquiet shades and sharks ever-fearsome and for that I pray that you are taken to your own water-tomb by devilfish that are well fed so they will slowly feed on your limbs until your body is nothing save a bloody monstrosity to be remembered by! And may you also be visited by the Lady of the Long Silence, Aza Guilla, whom I besiege to seek recompense for the innocent and blithesome soul that you cut down. When my most beloved son was in his prime and had yet to start a family of his own, to carry on my name and business. May the Lady Most Fair weigh you with prejudice and not her graceful impartiality when you meet her apace; may she take you when you are most lonesome and bereft of your own family!"

There the furiously devout and agitated man's diatribe was seemingly cut short: for there were ten or so more gods not yet called upon who could rain down their wrath upon the merchant. Instead of moving onto Perelandro or Nara, however, the man jerkily stilled and began to slip beneath the surface of the water, following his son.

The ignorant crowd looked on in captivation. The barge-merchant looked on in apprehension. There were no boats of yellowjackets looking on.

***

By the time the next Revel was staged, Izar Medina was convinced that the old man's curse had been heard by all twelve of the Therin gods, not only the two that were specifically named. His observation barge was nearly empty of the usual crowds who flocked to his banner. It was nearly empty of any paying patrons. His wife had recently left him, taking ship along with his three young daughters. The alchemical pear tree in his garden, his favourite of all the trees in his manor's orchard, had begun to turn gray and wither long before its natural time to do so. And he had been feeling constantly nauseous, though he had yet to decide if that was stress or if his health was another aspect of his life the gods were turning to ash. His house was no longer a place of warmth, with his family gone and the pride of his garden wilting; more recently, he felt constantly watched there and he had begun to hear strange noises when all else seemed quiet.

Looking out over the water, from atop his nearly empty barge he was caught unaware when someone stepped forward to interrupt his dark thoughts. "Master Medina, I have heard that ever since the Revel of last month, you and your life have been under a sort of pall." The voice had the clipped sort of cadence that northerners used when trying to hide their accent. "Some might even say it is of a spectral sort."

Stiffening and turning towards his visitor, Medina placed his companion: a regular of the past few months, a trader of some means who operated primarily north of the Upriver Canal. The man's clothes were finely cut, yet not expensively tailored; someone who favoured function rather than ornamentation, who was a proper business man. His shockingly white-blonde hair was slicked back with oils, his eyes a concerned gray, and his mouth set in a empathetic grimace. "Master Corza, I am sure that you were here, last revel, when there was a tragic run-in with another, much smaller boat."

"I did witness that unfortunate... event, with the old man and his son. Quite the orator that older one was; I'm sure that he was wasted as a ferryman."

"Yes, that speech of his; I have begun to wonder about the audience to his words."

"I, too, have been pondering the words," Corza paused before continuing, "and the news that I have heard about your own current situation." Leaving another pause for contemplation, Corza persisted in his line of conversation. "I also have heard of a priest. A man touched by the Lady of the Long Silence herself. She has given him great abilities and responsibilities; his intercessions are heard swiftly and his work is never-ending."

With slight disbelief and moderate hope lining his words, Medina worked out, "And why would a priest of such great responsibilities and works care to intercede on my behalf? And how much white iron would be needed to grant my intercession?" Sighing a little, he clarified: "Not that I would hesitate to pour coins at his feet; another month like the last and I don't think that all the money in the world could keep me sound." And with that, Medina hung his head once more.

The wind picked up across the top balcony of the barge and Corza laughed a little. "Master Medina, while you and I may both be men of business, Father Viden's concerns are less material. I'm sure that all he would require for his services would be a meal for sustenance while he does he work."

***

Making his way away from this month's festivities, Master Corza stepped into an alley darker than most. Meeting up with Calo, Corza become Locke Lamora once more. "Thanks for holding a change of clothes for me. Could you also be a delightful wench and cook me up some flakey spinach and cheese puffs later today?" he asked while lightly slapping the cheek of the other Camorri.

"Well sure, and then you can plough my tender valley and fall asleep between my perky tits. No, now wait; I'm not a sultry redhead." Reaching a hand to the crown of his head, Calo grinned, and tugged at his hair to muss the black curls.

Shooting Calo a dirty look, Locke bit back, "I'm glad that you're dead. Now I don't have to be civil to you. Or share the prize from this game with you."

"Come now, don't toss me away quite so quickly," Calo shouted to the back of his friend who was now stalking away. "I'm not dead; it was my unfortunate brother who took to a watery grave after being overrun by the stupidest barge-merchant in all of Camorr. Though, I suppose my brother was an only child, before his sorrowful passing, which must mean something unpleasant for the nature of my existence."

"As I said, you have become one of the deceased. You were probably hung off the bridge for being caught stealing. You were known for your deviant behaviour for many years; you were likely caught stealing the undergarments off a young lord's wife."

"Now Locke, I've never been caught at that."

Barking out in unexpected laughter, the two continued down to the canal by Coin-Kisser's Row, to catch a lift back to their Temple.

Upon arriving back at their home beneath the Temple of Perelandro, the two young men were greeted by Jean mixing up some spinach and cheese puffs for their supper.

"I suppose you could pretend he's a redhead," said Calo in an apparent non sequitur of a response to the other thief. "He's kinda got some perky tits going for him."

***

Later that same week, Locke finally got around to bringing the priest to the house of Master Medina; the priest was rather busy, prior, dealing with the uneasy soul of a departed sea captain. But when Falselight gleamed three days after the festival, Locke felt that the merchant must have stewed enough.

Arriving at the manor, Locke was returned to Master Corza while Jean's face was hidden behind a Sorrowful Visage made of fine wire mesh and his large body was underneath the black robes of Aza Guilla. The two rang at the door for entrance and were quickly admitted and shown to a pale and withdrawn Medina.

"Master Medina," flourished Locke, "this is the priest that I spoke of previously. He truly does wonders in calming the unnatural of the world, and hopefully he can aid you in your problem. If I may make the introductions," but he was cut off by the distinguished voice of the priest most pious and powerful.

"If possible, I prefer to remain as I appear: naught but the face of the Lady Most Kind here. Introductions on my behalf are unnecessary, for I already know who you are Master Medina, Izar Medina, husband of Dumase, father of Guiar, Iricano, and Terishar, fourth in a line of merchants to own the _Floating Spectre_, younger nephew of the Don de Marre who now rests for all times in the arms of the Lady.

"You shall suffice to know that I am going to intervene to the gods on your behalf, and the gods will listen, for even the nature of Death the Transition is in the providence of my Lady, and it is a curse spoken by one about to enter into Her arms that is causing you grief. I will have access to your manor and gardens as I feel out and fell the restless shades that have gathered here."

"Shades? Shades in my home? And they are the ones causing me grief? They are dangerous then—I must warn..."

But it was Locke's turn to cut someone off. "Don't worry about her, Master Medina. I shall attend to your benefactor; your attention is needed beside our mutual acquaintance from the order of the Death Goddess. I mightn't look it, but have had a small amount of instruction from Her Temple as well."

Wrapping a huge arm around the merchant, Jean began slowly spin them both. "Your invigorating life is drawing the dark shades to you. We must find them and destroy them. Those who have made the journey through Death the Transition are meant pass to Death Everlasting, not to linger here to mingle with the living. Come, we will put you and them to rights before the sun rises over the sea." With that he began walking with a slightly drunken stagger out of the drawing room and down the hallway.

"Oh, I can _feel_ it. I can feel _them_. While it is unnatural, it is quite thrilling to experience those who have already gone on to glimpse the Lady," Jean continued his act with an excited voice. "Can you feel them, Master Medina? They are so close. So _close_."

A touch bemused, Medina trembled in his clothes. "Of course, I mean, yes. I can feel the shades that are destroying my life. All around!"

"Good. Good Master Medina. If you can sense them, then you can truly appreciate the peril you're in. They are not here to aid you. They want things from you: your joy and happiness. Shades are like that. Unquiet shades had something stolen from them in life and they are still here, so we believe, because they want that something back. They need to steal it from somebody: like for like, if you please."

Suddenly there was a flickering of a light in a door off the hallway.

"Master Medina, you did dismiss your staff as instructed?"

"Of course! There's no one here save the four of us."

"_So_ close they are—the shades." Suddenly the door to the library was thrown open and a blinding orange light spilled from the room which should have been dark since the dissipation of Falselight some short time before. Then there was a horrifying gurgling sound, as though someone was drowning.

Quickly dragging the deteriorating merchant into the library, Jean boomed out "Spirits who have passed. You shall leave this man in peace." Removing his arm from Medina, Jean threw up both hands. "I call upon Aza Guilla, the Lady Most Fair: leave spirit, leave this man and do not return!" Then falling to his knees, he finished with "Bother him no more thing of wickedness, I say, by the _power of the Lady, be gone!_"

Leaning toward the priest, Medina whispered "Is it finished? Have they left?"

Letting out a cheery laugh, Jean rose. "No, no, my expertly fucked friend, your troubles are still before you. Shades are notoriously dense creatures. They'll need more than that friendly greeting to leave the living in peace. Others may need more than a friendly greeting from the Sorrowful Visage."

With that, the two men heard harsh and incoherent whispering from the hall as well as some ominous creaking.

"Now let's continue through the house," Jean merrily solicited, "we have many more thrilling encounters to make."

***

Locke watched Jean and Medina move down the hallway, and then he went in the opposite direction. Encountering nobody, as he had watched the last of the servants leave, he headed for the mechanical elevator that would take him to the second floor. Before the late de Marre became the late de Marre, he was the stilled-legs de Marre. He had lost the use of them in an unfortunate snack involving the fruit of a newly grown hybrid tree that was created by his wife. The fruit was meant to concentrate a powerful muscle relaxant in its juices. The fruit assured that he would never be able to move his lower body of its own volition. She never was able to get the juice of the fruit to stop paralyzing people in their extremities.

After that, he had all the stairways in his manor ripped out and replaced with elevators. If he was going to be bound to a wheeled chair for the rest of his life and need to use lifts to transport him between stories, everyone else in the household was going to have to use them, too. It eventually worked out quite nicely for his wife; she also lost the use of her legs, but due to rheumatism and arthritis and not an uncommon lapse in common sense.

This alchemist widow was the benefactor of Medina. For while the man owned several business ventures in his own right, he didn't have the common sense to make much of any profit off of them. And more than once he had needed her substantial loans and bequeaths to make some of his larger mistakes disappear.

The alchemist was a lady of late years who Locke was currently expecting to find in the second-story sunroom. Apparently she enjoyed the room even after the sun had set, for it had an excellent view of the manor's gardens and the Five Towers across the canal, alchemically lit and glowing through the night.

***

Panting from the exhortation of his last tirade, Jean picked his prone body up from the kitchen floor. "All the spectral clanging going on in this room should be at an end, but I am beginning to wear thin in energy. It may be time to move onto more advanced rituals of appeasement and dispelling. Gifts I should think! Those strong spirits who are left will not be commanded out. They can only be placated."

By this point in the evening, Medina was continuously latching onto the billowing robe that Jean wore, so taken in was he with the exorcisms of nothing that the masquerading priest was performing.

"And what could I possibly give them? They have already taken so much from me. My family, my standing at the Revel, I think I might be coming down with something—maybe a sickness of the stomach. There have been some bad humours accumulating there," Medina said with a face quite devoid of blood and eyes wide with shock.

"Bad humours in the stomach, you say? Then there is your answer. They must be appeased with gifts of wine. Good wine is what is needed. And those are not bad humours in your stomach. They are spectral forces. If they were bad humours, you would need a physiker, not a priest of She Who Calls to All. We still have work to do. We must collect all the wine that is in your cellars for a sort of libation.

Using crates and by making more than a few trips, the two men eventually carried nearly two hundred bottles of fine and aged wine to the manor garden, bordered by the canal. Holding up a bottle from the Seventy-First Year of Gandolo, Jean faced the water and shouted to the apparently empty garden, "Spirits who would not leave, I now make you an offering. Cease your torment of this man. You have done what you were brought here to do. You have made him suffer. Now slake your appetites and lusts with these offerings we give to you, and find rest in Death Eternal." With that, Jean tossed the bottle into the current.

"Come and help, Master Medina. We must quickly bloat them full of your offerings so they become satiated and content, allowing them to go onto what awaits them with the Lady." And so both men continued to throw bottles of wine into the water.

After the last bottle was in the canal, the withered alchemical pear tree, behind them and out of sight, burst into flames. Quickly turning around, Medina screamed and Jean fell to his knees declaring, "You are saved! The Lady has sent a sign that you are now to be free of those who would rob you of your life of happiness. And while I can't set right what the shades have done already, I can promise that you will not suffer from their continued misdeeds."

***

While Jean was leading a gullible merchant around his own manor, Locke slipped into the sunroom of the same building. "Doña Rosalina de Marre? My name is Corza, Tabbers Corza. I have been instructed to keep you safe during a priestly ritual that is currently taking place in the manor. Your nephew would have introduced us, but he is rather... preoccupied by the events of tonight."

Turning her wheeled chair away from the window, the Doña eyed the man standing in her doorway. "Well, do come in then, Master Corza," she replied genially. "I am not able to get out much and it's been quite a while since I've had anyone to speak to besides my luckless Izar and the servants."

"Well, hopefully the luckless bit will change for him shortly. I have great faith in the priest here. Though," his confidant face faltered a small amount and he took a seat in a garishly overstuffed chair facing both the garden and the Doña, "I admit that I am somewhat affected by all the shades roaming the manor. Just being around them has begun to wind me up, create some tension in both the atmosphere and my humours."

Sighing, the lady nodded in agreement. "It has been a somewhat tense month, what with Dumase running off and the troubles with Izar's stomach and attempting to fill the barge. And then, then the lovely pear tree outside, it just up and died when it should have had decades left to it!"

Nodding in turn, Locke chose to let silence reign for a few moments. "In my travels north—I am a trader you see—I came across quite the helpful remedy for tense situations. There is an orchard, a fascinating orchard, with the strangest of hybrid trees. They bear pine nuts, but these nuts have the most calming effect on those who consume them. Quite new hybrids, actually, not even yet produced for mass planting. The alchemist there said it was an improvement upon the idea of a lemon tree whose fruit randomly paralyzed people; apparently the citrus was incompatible with the codeine." Drawing a small drawstring bag from his coat pocket, Lock watched the Doña's face go as white as her nephew's surely was.

"I was able to procure some of them and have since made a habit of carrying them with me for just such situations." With that, he opened the bag and picked out some nuts to eat. "It's really too bad that the orchard has been unable to secure the appropriate funds to develop the product. I've bought into the orchard myself and have been looking for other funding for the past few months."

Whispering, Locke suspected to herself, "Damn lemons. If only I didn't love lemons so much," the Doña's tight voice then asked, "And what did you say the name of this alchemist was? I would be most curious to know."

Drumming his fingers on his lips, Locke appeared to ponder the question. "A younger man, though his name, hmmm, Lontque perhaps? I can't recall the given name, but I know that he was an apprentice of Ruman Theodolopolosi. The elder is attempting to raise funds to buy up the rest of the enterprise, going into business with his apprentice."

Shutting her eyes, the Lady smiled maliciously. "Theodolopolosi was a hack who could only work on what others had already created: nothing original to the man. I see he passed that onto his apprentice. May I see some of those nuts, please?"

Passing over the entire bag, Locke waited for the lady to continue to speak, and he didn't have to wait long. "You know, I was the one who created the tree he based these nuts on. It was _my_ work, entirely _my_ idea. When he asked for a tree, I thought he just wanted to keep an eccentric specimen of alchemical botany. I never dreamed that he would craft something that anyone could use from it, something so glorious." Eyes sweeping from the bag in her hands to the man before her, she sharply questioned: "And you say this apprentice is having money problems?" She then put a single nut to her mouth and began to eat a very small amount, testing it on her tongue.

"Not problems, it might be best to phrase it as a lack of sources. He hasn't made many connections to wealth working so far north, and those he is connected to, well they aren't rolling in funds. I'm sure you're aware of the problems Theodolopolosi had a few years ago, what with the strange desertification of his soils?

"While I am a profitable merchant, I have no large sums of white iron to draw upon. Most of my wealth is still invested in my business ventures. So I have been working as a go-between for him here in Camorr."

Her malicious smile widening in the room's alchemical light, the Doña looked nearly giddy. "Master Corza, I believe that tonight has just become a very good night for the both of us. Your funds are still tied to your own businesses. However, I have long since put my fortune, and my husband's, into vaults at Meraggio's. Save for when Izar's gotten himself into some bit of trouble, it sits and collects lender's fees. Now, I would be most pleased if you were to allow me to buy out whatever share that hack was hoping to purchase. No need to wait for him to procure funds, should he ever do so, nor will you need to deal with multiple investors. Now, how much was lily-guilder hoping to raise?"

"Doña Rosalina, you seem so quick to jump on this offer. And while I am not one to turn down a fortuitous meeting, I feel the need to question your haste," Locke dissembled.

Wheeling herself to a writing desk set against an inner wall, the mark opened a drawer and removed a blank promissory note to Meraggio's. "Now for the truth, Master Corza," she gleefully asked. "How much of my money are you going to walk out of here with?"

"10 000 crowns."

***

Falling to his knees beside the priest of the Death Goddess, Medina began to softly weep. "Praise be to Aza Guilla, Lady Most Kind."

"Praise be!"

***

Back in their Elderglass cellar beneath the decrepit Temple of Perelandro, the priests and initiates of the nameless Thirteenth raised a liberal toast—from the Seventy-First Year of Gandolo—to the success of their latest game.

"I only steal because I am uneducated and illiterate and don't know any better."

"LIAR!" Galdo, Jean, Locke, and Father Chains shouted at Calo.

"I only steal because I was taken in by a thief-of-a-priest pretending to work for Perelandro!"

"LIAR!" the twins and Jean shouted to Locke, while Father Chains laughed, knowing that Locke was gleefully stealing long before he ever came to the Temple, or even Shades' Hill.

"I only steal to help maintain the great circle of balance that permeates our lives, with the cycles of birth and death, gain and loss, joy and sorrow."

"LIAR!" was shouted back at Galdo by everyone else at the table.

"I only steal because I lost my job as a clothing modeller after I had to get optics!"

"LIAR!" was the reply from the audience.

"I only steal to help create the greatest masterpieces the world has ever seen."

"BASTARD!" the young men shouted to their teacher, knowing full well the truth to his words.  
After drinking to their toast, and recovering from the laughter that seized them all, the Gentleman Bastards looked back over their game.

"That was one profitable evening," Jean began, "I was sure that you'd have to go back a second night, Locke."

"That was the Crooked Warden at work. I had no idea that she was that quick with her notes." After shifting his eyes to Chains, "Likely she was beset with the haste found in many of advanced age. Less time before they meet Aza Guilla, so they have less time to piss away thinking things over."

A slight pall was cast over the table; everyone knew that Chains was getting older and in need of a physiker more often, even if no one was allowed to say anything about it.

The oldest diverted their attention back to the game completed. "It was a well planned game; months of prep work went into establishing Corza. That's the key—establish yourselves so that you become who you say you are. If you are Corza, or if you are priest of Aza Guilla, then no one can hang you for it, save for our Benefactor who sometimes just wants to see a short drop."

"Well, I just enjoyed burning down that tree. Right in the middle of his garden! Does that make me a bad person?"

"Yes," Galdo replied to his brother. "Of course it does."

"Well, that's alright, I suppose. All those good people never get to eat menthe-du-crème quail with baby tubers and baked goat's cheese." Calo looked mournfully at his twin, "They have to eat dirt. Dirty, filthy dirt." He then broke into a wide grin at the thought of the pious priests of Perelandro sitting down to a meal of their own garden soil.

"Really though children, Medina was asking to be set up: he beat his wife, was a terrible business man whose customers were easily lured to that new stadium, he never bothered to check his food for the bits of yew that were making him sick—slipped in by his spiteful cook I suppose, but the point still stands. He was an overly superstitious man who believed the first person who offered him a solution. Great performance as a 'solution,' though Jean. And Calo, for coming up with the nuts dusted with codeine, and Galdo, for being quick in the canal."

"I don't understand why I need to keep impersonating a priest of Aza Guilla. It is becoming a strangely effortless and simple role to slip into."

Chains just raised his glass to Jean, in a manner of compliment.

"Did I mention that I really enjoyed poisoning that pear tree before I burned it down? Slowly adding Jessaline's mixture to its roots, watching as it began to lose its vitality? Maybe that's why I've never eaten dirt, because I like to kill trees."

"Well, I had a lark making people think I was dead. Disappearing body, running around dark houses, making strange noises, freaking the man right out of his mind; that's where the worth is. Or, maybe half the worth—I do like looking at all the money in the cellar."

Raising his glass once more, Locke cleared his throat, and rather loudly at that. Jean looked over and sniggered before raising his own glass.

"And of course, Locke, wonderful idea for Medina to throw in his entire wine collection; it really does have some fine years in it."


End file.
